


one last time, love

by chryysaskk



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Affectionate Insults, Bad Flirting, Bickering, Drunken Flirting, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Kinda, Mild Hurt/Comfort, jaskier thought of one (1) pick-up line and uses it forever, no beta we die like witchers, prison buds au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:02:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29683674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chryysaskk/pseuds/chryysaskk
Summary: "You know that if you want my clothes off, all you have to do is ask.”Yennefer hummed. “A'ight, then. Strip.”Jaskier’s smile faded. “What?”She stared at him for some seconds, appreciating his shocked expression, and burst into laughter. Jaskier let out a breath and laughed with her. She wasn’t drunk enough, not yet. The way he looked at her though said that he wasn’t drunk enough either.Not yet.Five times Jaskier told Yennefer he would take his clothes off if she asked and one time she did.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	one last time, love

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in a whim after i saw [that post](https://toss-a-coin-to-your-stan-account.tumblr.com/post/643808179113852928/the-ideal-yennskier-dynamic-is-yennefer-insulting) on tumblr  
> it's the first time i write yennskier but apparently i'm into it now so what can i say.  
> title is from wild blue yonder by the amazing devil (of course)
> 
> hope you enjoy and if you decide to leave kudos or a comment know you're the light of my life <3

_i._

“Idiots. Morons. Useless pieces of shit. Fucking bricks.”

Yennefer snorted and walked furiously between the trees, raven locks flying wild behind her. Wilder than the actual ravens flying above their heads. She was grateful she’d chosen to wear pants before she went out, otherwise a dress would be ruined. She couldn’t tell the same about the walking disaster behind her. Yet she was grateful to hear him suffer. She smiled, not entirely despite herself.

“Ruined. Utterly ruined. It was fucking silk. Have you any idea how much I paid for this doublet? Well no, of course you don’t, your fashion sense doesn’t dare to come close to my preferences, or anyone’s as a matter of fact, however–”

“Oh, do shut up, bard!” She spinned on her heels, eyes blazing like fire, to face an absolutely desperate Jaskier jumping between the branches on the forest path. If she wasn’t worried to death she’d certainly be laughing to death. Jaskier halted and glared at her, arms raised, helpless. “Firstly, I can’t believe you’re able to think of your clothes while Geralt is missing!” The ravens above them fended off at the sound of her raging voice. She huffed then, looking at the bard from top to toes. “Secondly, you wore silk? To go where? Also, green?” She scrunched her nose. “Really?”

She didn’t wait to see the scandalised expression and dramatic gasp he let out. She knew exactly what he looked like and turned around again, a satisfied smile on her lips.

“Well,” Jaskier laughed, “if you want them off, all you have to do is ask.”

“Oh, for fucks sake.” Yennefer searched around in hopes of catching a glimpse of anything indicating Geralt was standing on his feet. That and also to forget that she’d even heard what Jaskier had said. She didn’t honour him with a glance, of course, that was too low for her to fall.

The ravens were back above their heads, screeching.

“I am scared.” Jaskier’s voice was low, breathless. Small. “I’m just talking to forget.”

Yennefer stood, only for a moment. Swallowed. If she didn’t hate the bard, she really couldn’t blame him.

_ii._

The market was so crowded Yennefer had to squeeze herself between the people and the counters and what she hoped was _not_ a horse to get out on the square. She took a deep breath, looked behind at the chaos she escaped. If she was cursing under her breath, metaphorically or not, no one could ever know.

The man shouting at people to go away if they had nothing to buy screamed as his counter of fans creaked and collapsed on the pavement.

Yennefer let out a satisfied hum and took a look around the square. There were counters there too, just less. She hoped she would find the herbs she was searching for at least there.

She also hoped the voice she just heard beside her was not whose she thought, _knew_ , it was.

“Sweet Elinor, your hands are truly working miracles!” Jaskier winked at the woman between the counter and looked again at the brooches spread on the counter, without failing to see her blush. What he also didn’t fail to see was Yennefer just a few feet away from him. As he raised his look, he realised the disappointment was mutual. “Yennefer.”

The sorceress returned the fake smile that made no effort to present real. “Jaskier.” Well, she wouldn’t escape in the end, would she? She sighed and approached the counter, peering at the elaborate brooches, ornamented with shiny crystals and flowers. “Those are indeed stunning.” She smiled and the woman, apparently named Elinor, nodded _thank you_ , blushing harder. The smile on her lips remained, although somewhat pretentious again as she turned at Jaskier. “It’s a shame your clothes are too disastrous too deserve such beautiful jewelry.”

Jaskier opened his eyes wide and chuckled incredulously. “My dear Yennefer,” a wild glint sparkled in his eyes, a smile, “no need to be so rude! If you want me to take them off, all you have to do is ask!”

Yennefer winced. “Your cheap flirting doesn’t work on me, bard.” She glanced at Elinor turning her eyes away in embarassment and raised an eyebrow. “They might work on her. But I wouldn’t flatter myself in your place.”

“Do you even flatter yourself, Yennefer?” Jaskier squinted, a smug expression painting his face. Yennefer held back her laughter at his ridiculous face and shrugged.

“At least I don’t wear purple silk at the _market_.”

Jaskier gasped.

_iii._

The slope was sharp and she stood to take a breath. Or two. Or breathe in general, because she’s not sure she had since she turned away from Geralt. Breathe, think, see. Ground herself. Remind herself that it was fine, she should have known, she knew how these things always went.

She knew.

The little voice screaming _why_ in her head had been buried under rage long ago.

The sky was red. Strange, the sky inside her felt red too. It’s the rage, she thought. Her eyes felt red too. It’s the tears, she knew.

The leaves crunched behind her but she didn’t need to turn her head. She knew who it was. She knew not what he wanted. Only that, somehow, for some reason, she didn’t feel the urge to push him away. Was it guilt? He’d been pushed away once. Rightfully, she’d once have said. Still.

“If you weren’t a witch I’d say you didn’t know how to protect yourself.” She hummed. His voice was hollow, broken. Yet it hadn’t lost its cheerful tone. Maybe she was annoyed. Maybe not. “You heard someone coming and didn’t even turn to see who it was. I could be dangerous.”

She smiled despite herself. Looked at him, finally, as he stood beside her and stared at the horizon. “You’re as dangerous as a mutified ladybug.” His doublet was red. His eyes were red. She huffed. They were a nice match.

Jaskier frowned at her in an attempt to play suspicious. To play fine. “Is that an implication about my clothes?”

“No implication at all,” she followed along. “They’re ridiculous as always.”

For some reason she knew the answer. For some reason she waited for it.

“If you want them off,” Jaskier hesitated, decided the play needed an epilogue, “all you have to do is ask.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes. “Fuck off, bard.” She took a deep breath, looked away to dry the remaining tears, compose herself. “If anything, I don’t want you behind my arse, I’m not Geralt.”

A chuckle, bitter. “Yet you sound like him.”

She whipped her head but didn’t reply. Jaskier’s eyes were already whispering an apology. For many things, if she looked deeper. Her eyes too. For many things, if she thought deeper.

Maybe she did.

_iv._

“I can’t believe I’m still sitting here.”

She could believe it, as a matter of fact. Firstly, she was drunk. Secondly, Jaskier was blocking the exit by sitting on the outer side of the bench. Thirdly, she hadn’t laughed in a long time. And Jaskier was ridiculous enough to make her laugh just by looking at him.

“Yes, you can,” he said or better, giggled in all his drunkness and poured more ale in her cup. “It’s not like you could resist talking to me anyway.”

She frowned in confusion. “You came to me. I had no intention of speaking to you, athough I made honest efforts to ignore your presence.”

“Yes, yes, go on,” he slurred and looked up at her as he rested his head on his hand. “Tell me about how you detest my vibrant and dazze– dazzel– dal–” he grunted and rubbed his face with his palm, “my prescence.”

She was laughing. Dears gods, he was truly ridiculous. “I’d say you’re like a firefly with no ass jumping around on that yellow doublet.”

“Excuse me, my ass is exceptional!” Jaskier exclaimed and wondered how he was able to utter exceptional. Then he raised an eyebrow, a flirty look in his hazy eyes. “But you know that if you want my clothes off, all you have to do is ask.”

Yennefer hummed. “A'ight, then. Strip.”

Jaskier’s smile faded. “What?”

She stared at him for some seconds, appreciating his shocked expression, and burst into laughter. Jaskier let out a breath and laughed with her. She wasn’t drunk enough, not yet. The way he looked at her though said that he wasn’t drunk enough either.

Not yet.

_v._

Yennefer coughed, wheezed, her voice muffled in his lap. She was trembling, like a leaf weak in the wind of a storm. Fists clutching tattered, once pink fabric. A voice was echoing in the damp cell, like the song of a siren foreboding certain doom.

Gentle, shaking fingers running through her hair.

She took a deep breath, ignoring the fire burning her ribs. Didn’t open her eyes, only nuzzled in the only comfort she could find close. “How can you sing?” The voice stopped but it’s a melodic closing. Nothing like the way it stopped when hands got on it. “There’s nothing to sing about here.”

The fingers didn’t stop, instead they were buried deeper into raven curls. “You know I am scared.” Oh, she knew. She could hear it in his voice. Feel it in the shivers of his body. He swallowed. “I’m just singing to forget.”

She smiled, weakly. “What kind of fabric is that?” She scrunched her nose and looked up at him. She missed his eyes, every time she averted her look, every time she feared she won’t see them again. Cornflower blue. It’s not like she saw any other colour. “It’s irritating.” She huffed. “You’ll never wear decent clothes, will you?”

Something hot dripped on her hand, rested on his lap. She knew it was not hers. He chuckled so as not to cry more. “If you want them off, all you have to do is ask.”

He lowered his eyes, met her look. Flooding. Yennefer bit her lip, reached for his hand. This time, she had no answer.

_vi._

The floor creaked as Jaskier entered the room. He gently closed the door behind him and turned around. Across him, before the mirror, Yennefer was staring at him as she brushed her hair, eyebrow raised. Charming, he thought. Menacingly charming.

“Is Ciri asleep?” She asked and her voice felt black velvet.

He nodded, a smile curving his lips. “And with a full stomach. Poor Geralt couldn’t take his eyes off her.” He chuckled as he strolled the room and placed his lute in the case. “He’s going to make a great dad.” He saw Yennefer smiling with the corner of his eye. If his look didn’t avert after, well, she couldn’t guess.

Except she could.

“I knew you looked like an idiot when performing,” she teased but the warmth in her eyes implied otherwise, “but today you were exceptionally ridiculous, bard.” She stood up, meeting his eyes as he stilled across her. “If you wore any more red, I’d have mistaken you for a jester.”

Jaskier raised his eyebrows as if acknowledging a successfully pointed insult and tilted his head, a familiar glint in his eyes. Now, however, his damn lips played along. “If you want me to take them off,” suddenly the room was too hot, “all you have to do is ask.”

A beat. This time, Yennefer’s answer was different than before. “I’ve heard white is quite popular this season.”

Barely had she managed to finish her sentence and Jaskier’s lips was on hers, kissing as if they were quenching their thirst, hopeless and possesive and deep. And they kissed and kissed until, finally, those damn clothes were off.

And when she saw him splayed on white sheets, she knew she had an exceptional fashion taste. And not only.

Well. If she didn’t hate the bard, she really couldn’t blame him.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!
> 
> come say hi on tumblr, i'm [wanderlust-t](https://wanderlust-t.tumblr.com/)!!


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